Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

I do not own Star Wars or its characters. They are and forever will be the intellectual property of George Lucas and Lucasfilm. My original characters in this work are mine, and I claim all ownership and intellectual property rights to them.

Prologue:

Amidst the ranks of the Imperial Stormtroopers there are numerous divisions of Troops specialized and adapted to varying environments and locale. None of the assignments is as grueling as that of the Sandtrooper. Scattered across countless worlds, they live, work and die in places most people would rather forget. They are Imperial law enforcement assigned to keep the peace, maintain order and protect the citizens on their beat. This is the story of such a group . . .

The core members of this unit arrived on a shuttle flight on a brilliant, clear Tatooine day in the middle of what would become . . .

. . . but I am getting a little ahead of myself .

It was in the early stages of the Clone Wars that the group, which would later become known as Garrison Tyranus, was assembled.

Count Dooku, known also in darker circles as the Sith apprentice Lord Tyranus, together with Poggle the Lesser and his Geonosian design experts, had successfully planned and launched the construction of a weapon that would carry the Trade Federation and his own Sith master, Lord Sidious, into a new era of Galactic Domination and unimaginable power.

The sheer scope of the plan, not only in physical size, but in the scale of the darkness of the deception, was staggering. Over the years leading up to the Clone Wars, many leaders of varying aspects of industry throughout the Republic had been brought together to form the first Trade Federation. The very underlying reason the Trade Federation even existed was to pool the resources needed to bring this sickeningly monstrous undertaking to fruition.

As ore was mined from remote locations and secured for the project, Outer Rim planets were stripped of their raw materials and left as mere shells of what they had once been. These worlds had flourished in the flurry of activity and jobs that buzzed around the project, and all but died out when the mining efforts were withdrawn and the jobs disappeared. They burned brightly while being consumed, just as a candle does, right up to the instant its last light is given, and it extinguishes in a silent puff of smoke leaving only darkness behind. In most cases these worlds were left behind as barren reminders of the blind ambition of the Empire. Breathable gases in extreme cases and moisture on the more fortunate ones had to be coaxed from the atmosphere on these ravaged, now-desolate planets using gas and evaporative collection units.

The new weapon was kept hidden from everyone except those responsible for its design and construction. Once construction began, the designers were the victims of a horrible navigational mishap on a transport shuttle taking them to oversee the construction. It appears that the shipâ€™s navâ€™ computer was set to jump on a course that took it directly through the center of the Rishi Maze and a tight clustering of stars. The ship was vaporized, and unfortunately, all on board along with her.

In the years that unfolded during the course of the ravaging Clone Wars, many things came to light. General Grievous was sought and ultimately destroyed by Obi Wan Kenobi; Darth Sidious was entrenched deeper than ever in his plan to unravel the fabric of the Republic, and as the beginning of the end, Count Dooku was slain by Anakin Skywalker. Dooku, aka Darth Tyranus, was beheaded in a lightsaber battle during a rescue mission to free the then-Chancellor Palpatine from both Dooku and General Grievous.

Although the soon-to-be Emperor lost his Sith apprentice that day, it was an anticipated and acceptable loss he had foreseen. Years before, he had laid the subtle groundwork for the cultivation of the one that would replace him. The troubled victor of the harrowing duel, Anakin Skywalker, whom he had counseled since his youth, would not only take Dookuâ€™s place by Palpatineâ€™s side by his own choosing, he would be instrumental in the complete and utter eradication of the Jedi pawns that stood as protectors of the Republic, directly in the way of his masterâ€™s power play.

By the time the Jedi Temple had fallen under Skywalkerâ€™s hand, and the very letter of Executive Order 66 was being carried out across the galaxy, the skeletal framework of the project was nearing completion.

Raw materials were flooding in from the Mining Guild to a remote construction location to continue the work. The surreptitious project had been so expertly protected and hidden from even the Jedi by Darth Tyranus, that Emperor Palpatine commissioned a Garrison from among the handpicked members of Darth Vaderâ€™s 501st Legion, the very troops that had stormed the Jedi Temple, and placed them in charge of security for its construction.

To honor his fallen apprentice, he anointed the newly formed group: GARRISON TYRANUS.

The construction scale of the project was enormous, never before equaled in all of recorded history. The final product would be roughly the size of a Class IV moon. Shortly after the end of the battles on Kashyyyk, many of the Wookiee survivors were enslaved and taken to work on the construction. To maintain secrecy, the scale of the project was shrouded even from those troopers working on it.

With the birth of the Rebellion, supply lines were compromised in some sectors. The rebels had no idea what supplies they were diverting or destroying. They simply knew the cargo was Imperial in nature, and attacked the defenseless federation convoys. It spooked many of the regular suppliers. Those that remained, smugglers for the most part, were less than reputable and suspect in and of themselves.

There were several instances of small, unorganized uprisings among the Wookiees in the years that followed, which were dealt with swiftly.

One smuggler, so troubled by what he saw, stormed the slave quarters, freeing several hundred of the hairy giants and making an escape with at least one of them. Most of the delivery manifests were destroyed in the raid, and the pilot was never identified.

Those manifests that were recovered showed shipments from Dantooine and Tatooine to our location with continuing flightplans to the Endor system. Sometimes there were projects that were kept secret from even the elite, until we became needed.

With the birth of the Rebellion, supply lines were compromised in some sectors. The rebels had no idea what supplies they were diverting or destroying, they simply knew the cargo was Imperial in nature, and attacked the defenseless convoys. It spooked many of the regular suppliers. Those that remained, smugglers for the most part, were less than reputable and suspect in and of themselves.

While we earned a reputation to be feared as a Garrison, and were able to maintain security of the project, we did not have the numbers needed to repel any serious external assaults or onboard insurrections should they have arisen. The project had also grown too large to keep concealed from long range scanners. There were Loyalists from Alderaan and many other inner systems that were merging efforts to scan for possible remote building sites. They feared the very covert operations that were currently under way, and acted to protect what remained of the Republic.

They hoped to one day regain the peace they had known before the Empire. Remote listening posts, comp scanners and orbital signal-jamming platforms were deployed to assist in keeping the draped veil securely in front of our project. Behind the shroud, armored ground assault vehicles, TIE squadrons, speeder bikes and a weapons stockpile including hand-to-hand weapons and sonic charges was amassed to ensure security.

And so our task progressed for nearly 20 standard years from start to finish. It was a constant battle to maintain security and order until the most magnificent killing machine ever devised was completed and its name revealed . . . Death Star.

Once the battle station was completed, Garrison Tyranus was reassigned to other duties close to the dark, masked Sith Lord. Some were dispatched to temporary assignments on the new battle station, some to duty onboard Star Destroyers with the remainder being assigned to various other posts, depending on their training and specialty. There had been small outposts guarding the mining of materials on Tatooine and Dantooine, among others. Some of the members of TYRANUS were assembled into a small patrol unit, assigned to re-establish an Imperial presence in the closed outpost on Tatooine.

It was with the formation of this new unit that my standing transfer request had finally been answered. It was late in the day, and I was just returning from a 3 day mission in the caves, when my CO confirmed the transfer for me, â€œDeckard, I just got the holonet confirmation of your transfer approval. I donâ€™t remember signing off on this, but I guess I must have if it is going through. How did things go on this mission?â€

Last edited by deckard on Fri Aug 27, 2010 3:15 am, edited 2 times in total.

Coruscant. The bustling, shining beacon in the center of the known galaxy, once home to the Jedi Temple and the Galactic Senate of the Old Republic, was a planet that had been developed and cultivated over the millennia into one all-encompassing city. It was here, beginning with the slaughter of the unsuspecting Temple Jedi by Darth Vader and our troops of the 501st Legion, and continuing with the rise of Emperor Palpatine, the Old Republic crumbled and fell away under the weight of the crushing new Galactic Empire. The last remaining decent members of the Senate were removed, and the integrity of its offices breeched as they were quickly overrun with beauraucrats, fat from their business associations with the Emperor's New Order.

Many years had passed since those last days of the Clone Wars, and the first days of turbulence and transition that followed under the Empire. Much that was valued had been lost. The innocent grandeur and the stability of power and reason within the Republic had been splintered into a million ruined shards, scattered to the four corners of the galaxy. The Jedi were mercilessly sought, hunted down and exterminated. It was believed that when the blasters were silenced on the fourth day following the enactment of Order 66, every last one had been killed, master and youngling alike, save the Emperor's new Sith apprentice Darth Vader. He once had been a great Jedi warrior and hero of the Republic before his turn to embrace the darker teachings of the Force.

Coruscant weathered the storm silently, like tall grass in a strong wind, yielding to the revolution, the transition of power. The city lights winked and shimmered like stars across the planet's surface as a lumbering freighter requested clearance to set down in the Imperial shipyards just outside Imperial City.

*

Sparks erupted from the welding tool and rained down over gloved hands as Taka attached the scope rail to the barrel of his custom rifle. He switched off the welder and pulled his safety goggles up onto the top of his head as he rolled in his chair over to check the crackling request coming through on the comm station. He glanced to an adjacent screen for clearance code transmission. It was the Resolute Servant, inbound heavy freighter from Muskree. He then checked docking availability and keyed the comm to respond, â€œResolute Servant, you are cleared for approach to landing pad sector 138011. A ground team will be readied and awaiting your arrival.â€

"I'll alert Commander Kluskine and let him know you're here. Ever been to Kessel, boys?" We all shook our heads no as we followed him further along the corridor.

The stony walls which had been smooth near the shield doors were now uneven and jagged and blood-stained. As I walked, I noticed fingernails and claws stuck in the discolored rocks from the hands of those who had been dragged in, screaming and fighting.

"The evil and darkness that lives in the hearts of the inmates here have robbed this place of any warmth, any soul. It gets to you after a while", he chuckled, "I should know. I worked the darkness of the deepest mineshafts for over twenty years."

I suddenly felt that if these dark, stone corridors could speak, they would scream in horror as they told the tales of the countless numbers that had passed this way to their fate, and the few, if any that ever came out alive.

Doole went ahead of us, stepping out onto a metal catwalk that crossed over a pool of an undetermined green liquid. The two trooper guards at the doors on the other side stepped out, glancing our way to see who was coming with him.

We all advanced around the room and came to the doors on the far side. Doole stepped up to the security plate and pressed his right hand to it at the same moment he entered a code number with his free hand. The doors opened, and we all stepped through, leaving the guards behind as the doors closed.

No experience in any of our lives could have prepared us for what lay in the darkness beyond the second set of blast doors. The roar of thousands of voices flooded out as the doors parted. We stepped through onto another gridded, metal gantry suspended from the stony ceiling of the cavern by thick cables. It swayed slightly from our movement as we crossed the open prisonerâ€™s common area far below. We heard screams and yelling and as I looked down I could make out an undulating living sea of inmates whose actions had brought them to this hellhole that was Kessel.

We walked through another set of blast doors and followed a small, dim corridor that opened onto an enormous mezzanine, half encircling an expansive labor pit below. I stepped up to the tranparisteel and looked out into the surface mining operations facility. 'Droid workers were busy removing rock in the never-ending quest to find yet more Spice.

Doole stepped forward, "And this is only the very top of the operation. The tunnels where the Glitterstim is mined are worked by the inmates in complete darkness, far, far below us. It has somewhat of a depressing effect on them, and tends to add a bit of claustrophobia and paranoia to their already abysmal working conditions, but it must be completely dark. The light activates the Spice, so it has to be carefully mined and wrapped in sheathing before it is brought to the surface for sale. Sit here a moment while I identify the troopers you're looking for. I won't be long."

He turned and disappeared down a narrow hallway. The pristine landing deck outside was definitely no indicator as to what the inside would look like. The area we were in now was damp and musty with the stale smell of an aging, heavily-worn government facility. The only signs of current technology were found in the security systems and atmospheric shielding. The 'droid loaders working in the pit were hopelessly outdated and showed signs of heavy wear and minimal repair or upgrade, just enough to keep them running.

Topolev walked to the transparisteel panel beside me and looked down in to the pit, "I've heard stories about this place my whole life. I never thought I would be here."

"Yeah", I said, tapping the transparent pane as the others walked up beside us, also looking down into the yard below, "just be glad you're on this side of the security doors."

Doole waddled back into the room, "C'mon, follow me. One of the troopers you're looking for is a drilling foreman on a platform several levels below us." We all turned and followed him a short way to a turbolift. He handed each of us an oxygen mask and gas cylinder. "The air is a little thin as you go down further. It might be uncomfortable for you, so use these to help." We all pulled on the masks and dialed on the cylinders as we entered the lift. Doole unlocked the lower level with a security code and the doors closed. The floor of the lift vibrated and shook as we passed silently beneath Kessel's stony exterior skin.

When it stopped, the doors parted, opening out into a noisy, dimly lit area with a metal gridded floor. We all stepped out, and Doole led the way down the tall, open hallway between huge machines toward the increasingly loud whirring sound that filled this level. He deactivated a yellow energy shield, allowing us all to pass as we moved further ahead toward the sound.

As the shield re-activated behind us, I noticed there was now a fine mist hanging in the air and as we came to the end of the hallway, water and bright light showered from above, splashing away from the enormous spinning drill shaft that ran from floor to ceiling. The water was being sprayed onto it to keep it cool as it burrowed deep into the dark heart of Kessel. Doole tapped the foreman on the shoulder, who turned around to face the group assembled behind him.

Seeing them, he reached over to a large control arm on the giant machine beside him and pulled it down, cutting power to the main drilling system. The raining water stopped falling and the spinning shaft slowly wound to a halt as did the loud whirring, and again the masked foreman turned to face us.

He drew back his synthetic, waterproof hood and pulled the re-breather mask from his face. "Doole, what can I do for you?" He eyed us all warily.

In another system, far from our cruising shuttle, a small, covert task force took their positions around the perimeter security fence of an Imperial Holonet communications tower on Toprawa. One of them leaned in close to the woman leading the group and whispered, â€œBria, this has to work, or there's no future for the Rebellion. Thereâ€™s no room for error or failure here.â€

After securing the shuttle, we walked up a small flight of sandy stairs toward a hallway that would eventually empty us out on the street. As we walked the length of the hallway, we passed the entrances to many docking bays like the one we arrived in . . . 88 . . 87 . . 86 . . . as we passed the entrance to docking bay 85, I saw the hulking, hairy back of a Wookiee disappearing down the stairs with his human male companion. They were arguing, in somewhat hushed tones, about how best to break the news to someone called Jabba, about a blockade and a dumped shipment of spice. The Wook was howling and flailing his arms as they disappeared around the corner at the bottom of the stairs.

Beneath the cover of my bucket, I shook my head, closing my eyes and letting it go for now. I was sure I would be dealing with it soon enough.

The smell from the streets of Mos Eisley drifted over us before we ever reached them. This was a run-down little city, formed from the sand and rock on which it sat.

It was old, dirty and well broken in, a lot like most of us. There were street vendors everywhere peddling practically anything to anyone who glanced in their direction. Food of varying origins was cooking in small street-side cafes. Deals were being made and beasts of burden were everywhere, hence the smell. There were Rontos and Dewbacks mostly, but I did see a tethered Bantha down one of the side streets.

It was unremarkable, and reminiscent of any one of the countless urine-soaked, poo-doo splattered city streets I had seen on any number of different worlds, except for the heat. I had been stationed in desert locations before, but a glance skyward told me Tatooine was unique in that it had two suns, binary suns, and both Tatoo I and Tatoo II were blazing down on us as we marched onward through the streets. The body glove beneath my armor was struggling to keep up with my rising temperature under the mid-morning blaze, but it was decidedly an uphill battle. There were citizens of all species walking the streets wrapped in loose-fitting desert garments.

This was a harsh environment, and most of the species we had seen so far appeared to have successfully adapted to living in the hot climate. Some sat at the street's edges, leaning back on the buildings in what little shade there was to be had.

Some smoked long pipes as young street children of varying species ran through the roadway playing games in the sunshine, trying to make a credit or two for the occasional odd job, and in some cases stealing food and water from the merchants or off unattended, uncleared cafe tables to keep from starving to death.

This was definitely the part of town that throve on the traffic from the spaceport. Based on what we had seen flying in overhead, straying one or two roads in either direction away from the immediate vicinity of the spaceport or marketplace left you in areas almost completely deserted. Here though, there was shop after shop of spare starship parts, cluttered with every outdated part you could imagine.

In one window I happened to catch sight of a thermal hydrospanner pack for a Sullustian WaveRunner. Those things had been out of production for several generations. Still, the shop owners were trying to wring a meager living out of what they had to offer. I watched their eyes following us as we marched past. I saw the uneasiness in their faces.

Some Imperial troops were nothing more than thugs, especially when charged with policing an out of the way place like this. It was the old â€œBig Otay in a little pondâ€

The scanning blue lights of the antique door sensor unit jumped back and forth, and a low, gurgling sound streamed out of it as we passed through the vestibule of the Mos Eisely Cantina. The bartender glanced up at the sound, and with a weary scowl, went back to pouring his drinks.

The room was alive with the sounds of voices and music. The roar of many voices speaking at once was competing with the Bith band in the corner, busy jamming out their music. It reminded me of the mixed sounds drifting out of some of the little pubs way down on the surface of Coruscant, the ones that served the best tasting food, the ones you had to really look hard for.

It was dimly lit by small table-top luminaries and a light hanging over the bar. The uneasy air was thick with the smoke from a dozen or more pipe smokers seated throughout the room and at the bar, mindlessly fogging the room with their intoxicating, aromatic haze. The bartender was serving 2 twin females at the bar, and trying a little too hard to impress them.

Tables filled with patrons, local regulars and pilots from the spaceport, littered the floor surrounding the central bar and were filled with heated card games and half empty drinks. Recessed table alcoves scalloped the exterior walls, for those customers seeking, a bit more privacy.

The others walked down the steps. Taka, Rogue and Topolev headed for the bar. I followed down into the room, slowly scanning for the Wook. I didnâ€™t see him, but the place was packed with an impressive array of outlanders, spacers and throttle jocks from all over the known galaxy. Falker and Blade were checking out the crowd as well.

Rogue had made himself at home and was talking to the twins at the bar as he waited for his drink. They laughed and drank Sullustian wine as they moved closer to him, hanging on his shoulders. His drink was slammed down on the bar in front of him, the contents of the container sloshing over the rim. He looked down at it and then up to the bartender as the rotund server turned his back and moved on to the other numerous orders awaiting him. Taka caught Rogueâ€™s eye and shook his head at the poor service.

Topolev received his drink in much the same manner as Rogue and walked past me toward the band. I heard him talking to one of the locals, asking about the music. Figrin Daâ€™n and the Modal Nodes was their name. Only on Tatooine. He walked over to them, eyes skimming over the dimly lit crowd as he walked through the room. The Bith band members played very unusual instruments and swayed and pitched their large bulbous heads around in time with the music. Their long fingers moved with agile skill over the keys and sensors producing a bouncy, smooth sound.

4120 had a dark, brewed drink with thick foam sitting on top and was walking through the crowd, scanning the room. As my eyes swept the crowd, I noticed a dark, hooded figure with a broad, long beak wearing large goggles watching him from just outside one of the dimly lit side alcoves. 0600 walked over to me and handed me one of the brews.

The silent, empty streets were still dark and cool with the chill of night as we marched; proceeding into the narrow hallway heading toward the rendezvous point in the spaceport.

One by one, we filed down the stairs, and found ourselves in the service bay adjacent to the bay pit itself.

Instead of the sandy floor of an empty bay or the Sentinel ship we expected to find, there was a worn shuttle and a small gathering of men. While most were dressed in the simple desert cloaks and tunics of the region, one stood out from the others, wearing the military uniform and black cape of a graduate of the Imperial Naval Academy.

A Flight Officer dressed completely in black was checking names from a list and addressing the small gathering.

â€œ . . . . and Samira Tevddeh. You men will be assigned to the starship Dominator. Our last recruit, Academy graduate Biggs Darklighter will be assigned as Third Mate to the starship Rand Ecliptic. Weâ€™ll be under way shortly and delivering you to your assigned posts, please board now and find a seat.â€

The Wookiee had the complex targeting system from the upper quad gun array torn apart and scattered across the boarding ramp. He probed the exposed circuitry with a diagnostic scanner in search of the problem. Captain Solo was working down inside one of the engine vents on the rear upper hull when he heard a loud Wookiee growl echoing off the surrounding hills as his co-pilot lost his patience with the job he was working on down beneath the ship. Solo stood up into the bright sunlight, squinting and grinning broadly at the familiar, frustrated growl of his friend, and laughed to himself.

He bent back down inside and sprayed lubricant on the louvered heat dispersing vanes under his feet. He reached down and worked the vane back and forth with his hands until it moved freely. In his mind he pictured his frustrated first mate. Laughing a bit to himself again at the thought of the irritated Wookiee, he climbed out of the open vent wiping a thick, dark fluid from his hands with a red rag before throwing it down on the metal skin of his ship. As he replaced the gridded vent cover he yelled out, loud enough to be heard below. â€œRelax Chewie, Iâ€™ll be right down and give you a handâ€

We continued on, sweeping the seemingly endless rolling fields of sand for the missing Sandcrawler, until the last of the daysâ€™ light had faded away. Although our instruments could continue picking up signals, we were exhausted beyond reading them. We set down at the base of a rocky outcropping along the edge of the Dune Sea, near the Jundland Wastes.

The livestock was offloaded and tethered to the side of the ship, left to graze on large bales of food brought from the cargo area. Temperatures were beginning to drop without the warmth of the suns overhead, so we took several of the compressed food bales and set them afire just outside the rear of the ship. The first shift guard was in place, scanning the area with his thermal imaging so the rest of us could get some sleep. We gathered around the blaze and settled in for the night.

Danz propped himself up on one elbow, the firelight throwing flickering light and shadow across his armor as he looked over to Blade, â€œSo what was that all about back up on the Devastator? Who was that up on the gantry?â€

The sand, rock and windswept dunes making up the barren landscape beneath us slid past quickly as we now flew with a purpose toward one of the moisture farms we had passed earlier this morning.

Hopefully the fugitives would soon be in our custody, the stolen data extracted and returned to Lord Vader, and the 'droid or 'droids destroyed. I unclipped my macros from my belt and snapped them on, scanning the horizon for any sign of the moisture farm; nothing yet.

I found myself wondering what could be so important to have rattled Lord Vader so, and why he had been careless enough to allow the data to be stolen by Rebels in the first place.

*

The small domed entrance to the Lars' dwelling finally came into view and the Sentinel flew in low, giving us a good visual scan of the farms layout. The main living quarters and most of the other structures were built beneath ground, with only their roofs protruding up to break the flat, sandy skyline.

All of the buildings appeared to have subterranean corridors that emptied into a common, open-air courtyard pit. The dewbacks groaned and flipped their tails around nervously as the Sentinel settled to the ground, squarely in the center of the now-familiar mechanical tracks that had kicked up the sand in front of the dwelling. The rear doors hissed open, and the gusting, fresh air rushed in to replace the overwhelming stench from the onboard livestock. We walked the length of the rear ramp to the ground outside and circled around toward the domed entrance to the desert homestead.

A scruffy, aging male dressed in well-worn, but presentable desert wraps came walking out to meet us. Etz and Topolev walked to the edge of the pit and peered down into the open courtyard below.

The manâ€™s eyes followed them as they walked. Felth hung back a bit with 1265, carefully watching the rest of the farm. 4120, 0600 and I stood with Rogue, who walked up to the man as he verified the name on the purchase order, "Mr. Owen Lars?â€

Blade and Ddraig had moved Windy, Deak and Camie out of the office and had them sitting on rocks, leaning against the stone retaining wall on the back side of the Power Station as they waited. Falker, Danz and Taka completed the search inside with Tyrell. Camie seemed to have shed her fear and become amused with the whole invasion. She sat apart from the others and was laughing when she spoke to Ddraig as he passed by in front of her, â€œYou wonâ€™t find anything. Fixer doesnâ€™t have anything that belongs to you, and if the â€˜droid he bought has something of yours, take it and leave us alone.â€